Fathers and Sons
by melancolie
Summary: For the first time in their seventeen years together, Watari must be there to guide his son back on the right track.


**A/N:** Ughhhhhhh. So tired. If there are any editing mistakes, kindly excuse me. I haven't slept in a couple days. And I'm not exaggerating. Well, okay, a little. Two hours a night for the past two nights. I'm exhausted. I'm going to take a nap.

Anyways, this was sort of spurned when I got to thinking about the relationships people have with others. And then, for some reason, I was thinking about L, which made me think of Watari, which...  
Well, I'm sure you get the gist.

If you're a reader of my TDI stories, sorry, but this couldn't wait. Consider it a practice in character exploration. :)  
I'll be back and writing again once I've had a decently lengthed nap.

That being said, I've got nothing more to say. Enjoy the one-shoooo...  
Zzz...

* * *

He'd always been alone. Even with others around, he was always alone. Trapped in his mind, always thinking, analyzing, doubting. He couldn't make friends. He couldn't trust anybody.  
Alone.

He couldn't miss what he'd never had. It was why he wished he'd never met Light Yagami. But he had no choice. He was a world-renowned detective first, and an individual second. Solving the Kira case required it.  
It hadn't required him befriending Yagami, though. That was entirely his own fault.

As a child, he hadn't had a very good grasp on social interactions. He never understood his feelings toward his parents, nor did he understand his feelings toward his parents when they died. All he knew was that they were gone, they weren't coming back, and he was the last person he had left.

Wammy's wasn't exactly good for making friends, either. The environment was too tense. All his training had, if anything muted his feelings. Smothered them. Buried them away like they didn't exist.  
But they were there. Deep, deep down. And he couldn't keep them away forever.

He knew, subconsciously, that he would have to die eventually, but he was also exceedingly good at Biology, and he knew that the life span of most humans was at least eighty years. He'd expected to have a good many years left, despite his poor diet, lack of exercise and dangerous sleeping habits.  
And then, he finally realized what he'd have to do to win. And that threw everything into perspective.

He called Watari from his hotel room took the day off that day. Watari knew what was going on; he could hear it in L's voice. L was certain that, for once, his blank expression had chipped and cracked to finally reflect what he was feeling inside, feelings that had not been erased, but had been buried. Buried for far too long. Long enough for them to mutate, to grow. Expand.  
And he grieved for a long time.

First, he mourned the loss of his parents. Maybe because it was the first cut, but it was the absolute worst pain he'd ever felt in his entire life. This could also be attributed to the fact that he'd never really felt pain before, either. But whatever the reason, he was being crushed. Or at the very least, his heart was. He couldn't breathe; whatever breaths that did come were short, quick gasps that he couldn't control or take relief from. He was suffocating under the weight of his grief, exactly the way his grief had suffocated under his unrelenting need to be rid of anything tying him to humanity.

The more he thought about them, the more he learned about them. Random memories, even seemingly useless memories helped him characterize them in his mind. He wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, or if it would help, but he did it anyways, and, even though it made him miss them more, it helped. It helped a lot.  
His mother was sweet and gentle. Very shy. Quiet. Exactly how his mother should be.  
His father was the exact opposite. Harsh. Demanding. But not directed at him or his mother; no, his father was, like his mother, everything a father should be. Joking. Teasing. Strong and brave.  
They were better parents than he'd expected. That made the entire experience so much better, and so much worse.

He was, for the most part, silent. Apart from the sporadic gasps, he would, every so often, omit quiet, painful moans. They helped, a little. Every tear he futilely tried to hold in lifted the weight of his grief just slightly. It must have been hours that he'd mourned his parents, and, once he was done thinking about them, once he felt completely cried out, he felt that he hadn't mourned them long enough.  
But he was hardly done mourning.

The next cause of distress for him was all the victims he hadn't been in time to save. Every mangled body, every black and blue face he could remember was another slash on his conscience, another ache in his heart. And though his grief wasn't as strong as it was for his parents, he did feel something else, something he'd never recognized, though if he really thought about it closely, he would have realized that it was guilt he was feeling.  
How many people had to feel what he felt now because their families were victims of some horrible crime he'd been unable to solve? He wouldn't wish this kind of pain on his worst enemies. Physical pain was one thing; you could heal from physical pain very easily. But healing from emotional pain required a long, complicated process. He would never force anybody to suffer this way. It was too cruel. Inhuman.

He didn't grieve for his (because, really, they were his victims. Criminals were animals, and couldn't help it. He was human, and could have helped them) victims half as long as he did for his parents, and he found that he was all cried out about an hour later.

Next, he cried for Watari. Because wherever L went, Watari was destined to follow, almost like he hadn't had a choice and L wasn't altogether sure he did. He couldn't remember Watari's explanation to him on his first day at Wammy's. He was too shocked to realize that he was now alone in the world to do much besides pretend to listen.  
He wasn't sure what exactly it was that made him sad for Watari. Perhaps he was just being empathetic? He knew that if he were in Watari's place, he would be miserable beyond belief. It made him wonder how Watari actually felt about his job, and thinking about it only made L's stomach tighten and his face cringe worse.  
He then tried to imagine what he would say to Watari to make him know that he had no commitment, and that he could leave whenever he wanted to. And as soon as he thought about Watari leaving, his heart ached a slow, dull ache. He would miss him. But he would feel so much worse if he kept him here against his will.  
He cried many, many tears for Watari.

After that, he was surprised he could feel enough emotions to have the audacity to cry for himself. Because he knew he was miserable. He knew he had a terrible life. And he knew that, as terrible and miserable as his existence was, it was drawing to a definite close and, despite its lack of any redeeming features, he didn't want to die.

* * *

Watari became concerned when Ryuzaki didn't show up to work the next day. Naturally, being Ryuzaki's caretaker, he knew where he was staying, but he didn't want to intrude. He had finally had to confront his long-dormant emotions, and it was a process that needed to be solved by one person only. But at the same time, it was very likely that Ryuzaki, who, unknowingly, would never be able to survive in the world without Watari, would need some support, whether he knew it and wanted it or not.

He ascertained that the other detectives would be okay without them for a few hours before heading over to Ryuzaki's hotel. Having an extra passkey allowed him certain entrance to his room, and he knocked twice before entering without permission.

Ryuzaki was still awake somehow, his eyes ringed red, contrasting sharply with the usual insomnia-induced black rings. He sat on the floor, his knees up close, his head tilted back and his arms hanging limply at his side. His hair, usually messy and unkempt now looked limp and hung sadly around his face. He looked like an old panda now more than he ever had in the past.  
Physically he looked like a panda. But he looked emotionally dead.

Watari couldn't realize the true depth of his pain. Ryuzaki had, until yesterday, been cool, calm and ever-collected. The only time he betrayed emotion was during a case, and always related to the case at hand. L had never expressed interest in anything but detective work, and the effects of that had finally taken their toll.

"Ryuzaki? Is there anything you need?" Watari asked quietly. He whispered, as if talking loudly might upset his young ward further.  
Said ward shook his head slowly, then stopped. "Water, please, Watari," he croaked. Watari almost cringed to hear it. L was never undecided about anything. Ever. His voice, normally so full of authority and decision, sounded weak and unsure. Watari knew that, whatever was wrong with Ryuzaki now was something that had definitely not occurred overnight.

He was quick with the water. Watari doubted he'd eaten or drank anything at all the day before, and he really didn't want to stress Ryuzaki's already-too-weak immune system.

"Thank you, Watari." He drank the whole glass very quickly, then cleared his throat. Finally, he stood up and, though it might have just been because of how beaten he looked, it seemed like he was hunched over more than normal. He shuffled over to the window and looked out of it morosely. "You don't have to stay, Watari."  
"It's okay, Ryuzaki. I understand that you needed some time alone, but you really should learn to accept sup—"  
"That's not what I meant." He interrupted sharply. Watari's eyebrows rose. He'd never taken a tone like that with him before. "I meant that you don't have to stay with me... forever. You don't have to guard over me all the time. You have your own life that you can be living." Then he mumbled, and, though he wasn't sure, Watari could have sworn he heard something about "dragging you down."  
"Of course I do, Ryuzaki. You're L." Watari said, his tone like a parent explaining that his love for his child was unconditional. "If I'm not watching out for you, who is?"  
L's reaction was surprising. "Dammit, Watari! I'm almost twenty-five years old! I can take care of myself!" He had never, in all Watari's years of knowing him, caring for him, shadowing him, ever raised his voice. Not to anybody. If he were angry about something, his voice got tense. It never got loud.

Under the anger, Watari sensed something else. He seemed wary, though over what, Watari really couldn't be sure.

* * *

If I'd been Ryuzaki, and he Watari, I still think it would have taken me about as long to realize what he was really saying.

"Ryuzaki..." I said softly, moving closer. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he tried to shake it off, but I was not so weak to be that easily brushed off. "Ryuzaki, look at me." I felt even more like a parent then than I ever had before. I'd never really spoken to him like a father, even if I always felt like it. And he'd never spoken like a child, even though—for all intents and purposes—he was. And I never dreamed that he would feel our relationship was anything less than a father and his child.

He turned to face me, but he never met my eyes. I figured that was the best I would get, so I spoke. "Ryuzaki, listen to me. I've known you, shadowed you, cared for you since you were eight years old. You're now just about twenty-five. That's seventeen years. And during these seventeen years, I've grown rather fond of you, in the sense that I look at you less as a child in need of sitting than as a... well, a son needing guiding." He met my eyes at that, looking confused and—I was certain I wasn't imagining it—a little hopeful. "I never stuck around because I felt that I had to, or that I was obligated. I've stuck by your side for no other reason than that you are my son, and I will always do my absolute best to take care of you. Not for the world's sake. But for the sake of our... family." For some reason, I nearly stuttered when admitting it. I guess it was because I was worried that he didn't look at me as a father, but as nothing more than a guide. A fellow employee. But his expression didn't deny anything I was saying, so I could keep going, more firm than before. "Ryuzaki, you are, for all intents and purposes, my son. I'm more proud of you than any father could be of his son. I don't want you to ever feel that I'm doing this because I don't have anything else. You are my son. We are a family. That's why I do what I do." I finished somewhat lamely. I really didn't know what else to say.

He seemed to believe me anyways. His back seemed slightly less hunched. His eyes looked less dead. Even his hair didn't seem as depressed.  
He didn't say anything in response to my little rant. From that point on, we'd never spoken of it until our common dying day. Ryuzaki turned to face me again, and, though he didn't smile, he wasn't frowning. "Come on, Watari. We've got a case to work on."  
I nodded. "Yea." Then I held the door open for him, and we walked back to our current headquarters.

We were an odd pair; that was for certain. But, I think, as far as fathers and sons go, you couldn't find a happier two than my son, the genius detective and me.


End file.
